Anemone Under the Sea
by elsiie
Summary: She's withering under their gaze and he's bound by his sense of duty. They're both so weak. Hiatus.
1. flickering night sky

**Anemone Under the Sea**

* * *

 _If she hadn't been her and he hadn't been him – could they have lived and seen tomorrow?_

* * *

The man looks at her with leering eyes. She feels the urge to retch as his gaze lewdly and unabashedly follows the lines of her body. He is too old but she doesn't have the luxury to refuse him so she lets her kimono drop to the floor, its cheap fabric forming a crinkled heap on rough wood. Her owner does little to hide his excitement, and with wrinkled hot hands, he reaches towards her.

His movements are clumsy but frenzied, as if he was a starving, rabid, animal. She's frightened by the intensity of his grip, and instinctively attempts to push him away with her small hands. At this, he grows impatient, mad, tearing her hands away, holding her wrists until she feels them grow red and raw. The girl calls out, for help – for _anything_.

"Hush little rabbit," his voice comes out hoarse with a hint of annoyance. "I've paid good money to fuck you."

Overwhelmed by fear, tears well up in her eyes and her body goes rigid. She can't move, she won't. And so she resigns herself to lay there obediently and helplessly as he has his way with her.

He's at her entrance, and as a triumphant smile appears on his sweaty face, a scream echoes through the building. The man freezes, and she uses this opportunity to push him away, gathering up her clothes and exiting through the door. He shouts after her, cursing her soul, delivering vile threats, but she does not slow down. Her heart is pounding in her ears as voices dance around her in a panic and flames flicker from behind closed doors. She knows not what is happening, but won't let this chance pass by.

As if the world were tormenting her, she finds herself at a dead end. The shoji screen won't slide open no matter how hard she tries, and she quickly becomes aware of the heavy footsteps approaching. She turns around, her arms in front of her poorly clad body acting like a barrier. The monster turns around the corner, and at the sight of her, his eyes darken and lips open to reveal a yellow-toothed leer. He lunges towards her just as her eyes dart to the sharp piece of glass that lay by her leg.

She rips into his face, leaving a deep gash from his cheekbone to his jaw. A gargled scream escapes his thin lips as he staggers backwards, hands clasped to his face. Livid, blood dripping down into his mouth, he lets out a roar that causes her to recoil in fear.

" _You filthy whore!"_

As his hand swings, ready to deliver a pain she was all too familiar with, she shuts her eyes tightly.

It is only when a few moments have passed and her cheek is left untouched when she opens her eyes. The first thing she sees, is pure white. A beautiful ivory that dances with the breeze, gracefully yet fiercely that is illuminated by the flames that flicker behind closed screens. She doesn't notice the pig's body drop to the floor as she stares, captivated by the man that stands before her. His eyes, of jade, are looking straight at her, with an intensity that is foreign as it is terrifying. But she can't bear to look away.

The man, clad in a soldier's uniform, sheathes his sword, a long metal thing that gleamed, and straightens. She feels his eyes sweep over her body, and she instinctively gathers up the loose fabric in an effort to retain some level of modesty.

"Are you injured?" His voice asks quickly, barely audible over panicked screams.

The realization of what might have occurred suddenly dawns upon her and she begins to shake. She can still feel his coarse and wrinkled hands wrapping around her thin wrists, his looming shadow above her, his horrid, _sickening_ sneer. Her breaths turn into gasps, sweat rolls down her forehead, she can't think of anything but the feeling of utter helplessness that threatens to consume her. The world spins.

She's brought back to the present by the man's voice, laced with urgency. He kneels slightly before her, white eyebrows furrowed in uncertainty.

"Hey, we need to get moving! Can you stand?"

After a few moments of shocked silence, she manages a small nod. Almost immediately, the man turns his head behind him as hurried footsteps echo around them. The woman follows him through the labyrinth that had once been the brothel as it was dyed in crimson and fire, bare feet padding against warm floorboards.

Running behind the man, she notices his dark uniform – western style – and bites back a snide remark. He doesn't deserve it. Instead, she turns her attention to the man that wears the clothing. He's taller than her, but compared to the men she saw stumbling in and out of the brothel, he was of average height for his age. Still, the way the man stands, head held high, a straight back, causes her to feel even more like a child.

He turns around, and for a moment, she's afraid that her stares had not gone unnoticed. But the man merely glances at her for a second before looking away. She wants to dispel the awkwardness that lingers in the warm air but the situation that they are in didn't seem like the best time for casual discussion. They turn a corner and her thoughts are interrupted by loud, hurried voices. The man pushes them back against the paper screen and she attempts to cease breathing.

A scream penetrates her eardrums, and her mind becomes consumed by fear.

She slips out from underneath him, both hatred and worry boiling in her veins like liquid fire. The scene she sees as she comes to a stop is one that almost causes her to retch.

A child's familiar body, tattered and worn, blood seeping from gashes on her burnt skin. Homura lays there quietly, unmoving as two men – no, _beasts_ – tower over her body. She can't think. Her limbs move, kicking one of the men away as she stumbles towards the child. Rough hands grab her neck, and she recognizes the man as a frequent customer of the brothel. She is slammed into the wall, with an amount of force that almost causes her to lose consciousness. Her vision is blurred by tears, but she manages to make out a sharp, angular face framed by dark hair.

"You _wretch,_ " she can smell the scent of alcohol on his breath. She has never smelt anything so vile. The scent seemingly lessens for a moment as he turns to his companion. "Oi, what do you want to with – "

She's dropped to the floor unceremoniously, holding out her hands to soften the fall. Looking up, all she sees is the back of the man who held her captive just seconds ago. The sword that pierces his heart is pulled out, and the corpse slumps to the ground. Looming over the body, the man with hair as white as snow sheathes his sword.

Teal eyes watch coldly as blood as red as wine pools onto the wooden floor. She tears her eyes away from the carnage that surrounds the man in the western uniform, too afraid to look any longer. But even though her eyes are tightly shut, she can still see the body of the little girl she loved so dearly.

"What…" she clasps her hands to her face, willing weak tears to disappear. "…just what is this?"

Sensing the man approach her, she lifts her head. His handsome face was contorted into an expression of pure anguish – but it's gone as quickly as it appears. He turns away, and she averts her eyes.

"You recognize those men, do you not?"

She remains silent, unsure of what to say. Would her cut her down as brutally as he did them? However, it seemed immoral to lie to a man who had saved her twice. She at least owed him the truth.

"They were customers here," she says quietly.

"Fitting," the man smiles bitterly, continuing before she can pry further. "They are part of a foolish group that opposes the government. Idiotic people who believe the emperor and his band of tyrannical aides should have remained in control of the country."

She had never cared much for politics – preferring to focus solely on the things that happened directly around her – and she had always thought that the town she lived in was located in another world. It was dingy, and dangerous, but people wore their desires on their sleeves and one always knew what awaited them. The people were simple – and that was how she preferred it.

"Why are they _here_ then?" She can't help but ball her hands into fists, frustration clear on her face. The unfairness of the situation, of the fact that they had become unwittingly involved in a struggle for power, bites and claws at her very being.

"Because they thought they could take this town. This brothel is nothing more than a casualty."

An image of Homura's body, battered and bruised, devoured by a cruel fate she did not deserve consumes her mind.

A resounding slap echoes.

She glares at him, with violent violet eyes. Her hand stings. His eyes widen. Letting her hand drop, she looks away, unable to control the feeling of sudden animosity that courses through her body. She watches the soldier's own glove clad hand go to the side of his face. Before she can say anything, a loud crash penetrates her ears. Turning around, she sees a wooden plank, burning, tumble to the ground. The hallway behind them is collapsing, falling. Consumed by fire. She lets him drag her away by the arm, as she watches the flickering flames.

They push through the crowd of people, screaming and yelling, sharp bursts of panicked words that make no sense. She recognizes the girl who helped her with her kimono that day with her leg charred a dirty coal black and turns away, blinking away frustrated tears. It was unfair. So, terribly unfair.

Yet she isn't able to bring herself to burn along with them.

Through a hole in the roof, she can see the night sky, a deep black littered with stars. Her chest tightens. She wants desperately to go home.

"Get back," his voice, sharp, able to be heard even with all the noise, stirs her from her thoughts.

Ahead of them, a single man stands. Though to call him human would be generous, it was large, towering a few meters over her and draped in rags which must have been clothes at some point. The _thing_ 's head was shaved completely and was pale apart from a crimson streak that ran down to his face. And it's eyes – they burned a violent green.

She doesn't register him launching towards her or the arm that pushes her out of the way. The two clash, metal meets metal, producing a painful screech.

The white haired soldier jumps back, shielding her with his body, gaze never leaving his opponent. Again, the beast lunges towards them, his sword a long metal thing splattered with blood grasped tightly within its grasp. Its attack is parried, and with expert swordsmanship, the soldier continues to deflect its assault.

However with each step he's being driven back. The foe is relentless, cruel, beastlike – showing no signs of fatigue. Sweat trickles down the man's forehead, and she notices a crease in between his eyebrows. She's afraid, panicked. Even her inexperienced eyes can see him faltering.

A shout escapes her as he's pushed against the wall. His uniform is slashed, revealing a deep gash in his shoulder.

He presses his hand against the gash, vision blurring.

When he realizes, it's a second too late.

The girl in the kimono throws herself in front of him and he watches as the sword pierces her body.

* * *

 **A/N** _Hello! I hope you've enjoyed reading the first chapter of Anemone Under the Sea! Updates will be a little irregular due to other commitments, but please look forward to the next chapter!_


	2. world of ice

**Anemone Under the Sea**

* * *

a world of ice

* * *

When she wakes, the first thing she notices is the pain in her abdomen. Upon closer inspection, she finds under the fabric of a foreign yukata a bandage wrapped around her stomach. Realizing the foreign cloth that draped itself around her body, she sits up suddenly. Her eyes scan the room, and she is immediately surprised by the quality of the furniture that occupied it. The futon she lays on is as soft as what she imagines clouds to be and the mahogany dresser by the door is polished and smooth. It is unlike anything she has ever seen in the slums and for a moment she sits in silence, fascinated by this alien environment.

Then, she remembers the event that occurred before she lost consciousness. The sharp and painful feeling of a sword being driven into her body. The white haired soldier with eyes as cold as ice. And the image of her home being engulfed by flames.

She throws the covers off. Standing unsteadily on her bare feet, she manages to stumble towards the sliding door. Just as she pushes the door aside, she is met with a dark cloth covered chest. Withdrawing in shock, she takes a step back as the soldier stares stonily at her.

"And where do you think you're going?" His question causes a crease to appear on her forehead and her eyes to narrow.

"I am not your prisoner!" Her heart beats loudly in her ears as the man remains motionless, unperturbed by her outburst. She attempts to compose herself, clearing her throat and straightening her back – but she isn't able to rid herself of the panic that surges through her.

"…thank you…for rescuing me," she hears herself say, shaking ever so slightly. "However, I don't think I can pay – "

"Do you remember what happened?"

He cuts her off midsentence, turquoise orbs as hard as steel. Reaching towards her, the man's hands – long fingers – pulls the fabric of her clothing apart. She doesn't move – eyes wide – watching, always watching. As he undoes the kimono, letting the cloth fall, the realization dawns upon her and she pushes at his chest, the tip of her ears bright red.

"Wh – what are you doing?!" She yelps, suddenly aware of how close they are in this foreign room.

The man pays her no mind, apparently oblivious of their suggestive position, concentrating solely on the bandages wrapped around her front.

"There."

He pulls the cloth dressings away to reveal scarred tissue.

"Just a few hours ago – there was a cut from here," he traces the tip of the scar by her sternum to her stomach. "To here."

Her eyes widen.

"Yet now, there is nothing but this scar."

She pushes the soldier away from her – though he moves back, even she can tell that she hasn't hurt him in the least. He looks at her with those jade green eyes – where they perhaps quietly speculating? Overwhelmed by panic, the girl holds her dress tightly in her fists and makes a wild dash to the exit of the room. She doesn't hear the man follow her, which slightly calms her wildly beating heart.

The corridors of this place are foreign but she doesn't let that fact deter her as she runs. She needs to get out of here – leave somehow.

And again, in the midst of a hurried escape – she runs into another person. This time, she manages to stop herself from darting straight into their chest, stopping in her tracks.

She doesn't think she's ever seen him before, but can't deny the fact that something about the man that stands in front of her seems all so familiar. He wears his raven like hair long, draping his broad shoulders and stood a good two heads or so taller than her. His clothes were elaborate, much like the white haired soldier's, yet not to the point of being overwhelming, just enough to imply that he was of importance.

What is most striking – were the man's coal black eyes that sears and burns.

She recoils in fear, but is unable to stop herself from being drawn to him.

After a few moments in which he simply stands while she tries desperately to look less shameful, he finally speaks.

"What is your name, girl?" The man doesn't speak harshly but she still flinches from the sound of his voice. It is deep, with a tinge of coldness and causes her head to hurt.

"R – Rukia - my name is Rukia." Her voice trembles and falters.

She is suddenly aware of footsteps approaching and turns around to the source of the sound. The white haired soldier, unfazed, approaches them with a straight back and levelled gaze. He doesn't even spare her a glance, immediately bowing to the man that towers over the both of them.

"Kuchiki-taichou," he begins – voice strangely respectful. "I am very sorry for the actions of my fiancée here, she has only just awoken and is rightfully disorientated."

Rukia stares. _Fiancée?!_ Yet the soldier doesn't even bat an eye, head still bowed. Yet what radiated from him seemed to promise a quick and painful end for her if she were to speak up. Instead, fearing for her life, the girl turns back to the man called 'Kuchiki' whose unwavering stare is both unnerving and familiar.

"With your permission, I will take her back to our room," with this, the white haired soldier stands up straight.

The man answers with no hesitation, yet his words are delivered curtly, the diversion having already been dismissed in his mind. "Do as you wish Hitsugaya Toushiro."

He walks past them and disappears further into the building. It is after a few moments when the man standing beside her – Hitsugaya Toushiro – takes her arm and guides her back to the room. She is finally over her initial shock at this unrealistic situation as they come to the door to the room. Once the door is shut behind them, she whirls around, infuriated and more than ever, confused.

"Why did you tell him that I was your fiancée?"

He pointedly ignores her, heading to the dresser in the room and rummaging through its contents. She is tired of being overlooked and resolves to at any cost, get at least a sliver of information from him.

"I, at least, deserve to know!" She shouts at him, so very annoyed.

All she receives from him is the bundles of clothes that he throws at her.

"Wear this."

And then he leaves. And she is very close to throwing the bundle of fabric at the shoji screen.

The only reason she doesn't is because her body is cold and the loose clothing she wears at that moment offers little protection. Unwillingly, she attempts to wear the kimono, yet is almost immediately intimidated by its many layers and pieces.

When he returns almost half an hour later, she is sitting on the futon, surrounded by the clothes that she lacks the skill and knowledge to put on. He says nothing, choosing only to raise a single white eyebrow as her glare challenges him to say _anything_. Letting out a sigh, as if he were silently berating her, he walks over to the mess of fabric she has made.

"Stand up," he says while picking up the kimono that she has so lovingly discarded on the futon.

This part, she is used to. She holds out her arms as he slides the fabric over her pale arms and breathes in when he ties the obi around her body. There is no mirror for the girl to look into, but judging by the way the kimono sagged, she could tell that it had belonged to someone taller than her.

The soldier then hands her a hairbrush, and has the _gall_ to give her a questioning, condescending look. She snatches it from his long fingers, glaring heatedly as she did so.

As she begins to brush her hair, he stands behind her. Using this temporary silence, she tries once again to get any answers from him.

"…so what is this place?" Rukia asks, making a pathetic attempt to come off as nonchalant.

"You need not know," comes his flat reply.

Her eye twitches. Still, she doesn't let his answer discourage her. "That man from earlier – he looked like quite a high-ranking person…am I wrong?"

"I suppose he does."

Another twitch. She is so very close to pelting him with the ornate hairbrush. Setting the brush down, and letting her silky strands fall through her fingers, she turns to him.

"If I am to be your fiancée," the word sounds foreign on her lips, nevertheless, she continues. "Then I should at least know what name to call you by."

At this, he becomes silent. She knows not what is going through his mind, only that he is deep in thought.

"Hitsugaya."

Although she knows that it is only to lessen suspicions – she is elated to receive a proper answer from him.

"Then, Hitsugaya-sama, please tell me the reason as to why we are betrothed."

A glimpse of what seemed to be surprise flashes across his face and she relishes in the fact that she has managed to catch him off guard. He lets out a sigh of…defeat? The man that stood in front of her was even more difficult to read than the papers she had seen drifting around the brothel.

"If I am correct, then your…" his eyes drift to her torso where underneath layers of fabric, a scar lay. "…skill could be beneficial to us. Until then, the only way to keep you here is for you to be bound to me."

 _I'm being used._ Though she was not shocked in the least – she couldn't deny that hearing those words directly from his lips had aggravated her. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"And what makes you so sure that I will blindly follow you?"

In a flash, he has drawn his sword and holds it by her neck. She can't move, she doesn't _dare._ The only thing between her and a swift death is the millimetre of air that sits in between.

"Then I will cut you down right now." His face is as blank as paper. There is no fury in his words, merely the promise of a hasty end

At that moment, she is afraid

* * *

The kimono is heavy on her, it tugs her down into the ground and she wants nothing more than to tear it off. His presence in front of her ensures that the repercussions of such an act would be harsh and she shudders. As they walk down the corridor, feet padding on wooden floorboards, she tries her hardest to paint a clear image of the compound in her head. It is large – they have been walking for a few minutes and it still didn't seem as if they had reached their destination, or was even close to it. The hallways were winding and twisting, much like a maze and every attempt to recall the way she had come from resulted in a migraine.

Every so often they would pass by someone, who would always bow respectfully, though she noticed a hint of confusion once their eyes would meet hers. Still, not a word was said, and she wouldn't dare to strike up a conversation. These people were strangers, and almost everything the soldier named Hitsugaya Toushiro had done had only served to paint them as a group of horrible people with no regards for human life.

After all, he had only kept her alive because she seemed to possesses something he wanted.

He stopped suddenly, and she followed in suit. Double doors, dark oak that stood out from the shoji screen that surrounded it awaited them. A man in a similar uniform to her captor bowed, he stepped aside after pushing the doors open.

"Speak only when spoken to," he murmured.

* * *

 **A/N** Thank you very much for reading so far! Constructive criticism would be wholly appreciated, and please look forward to the next chapter!


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